


(magic) it’ll free your soul

by Spikedluv



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Community: trope_bingo, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3843613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Laura disappears she leaves Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski looking for clues, and then her irate (read: worried) brother shows up at their door and Stiles learns something about himself that he never suspected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(magic) it’ll free your soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynne/gifts).



> Magic!Stiles. Bonding. Sheriff Stilinski is aware of the supernatural. This story takes place prior to episode 1.01, however it includes spoilers through season four. Written for round four of Trope Bingo on DW for the _au: magic_ square. Title taken from Lovin’ Spoonful’s ‘Do You Believe In Magic.’
> 
> Thanks to the meta writers whose theories inspired this story. (To see what theories I borrowed, see the notes at the end of the fic. Please keep in mind that they’re spoilery for the story.)
> 
> This story is for Rynne, who won a fic from me at an auction just before my muse went MIA last year, and so she’s been waiting nearly a year and a half for it. This story is just one of the many I owe her for being so late, and I hope she enjoys it at least a little bit.
> 
> Written: April 29, 2015

“Call me as soon as you get this, alright?”

Stiles finished leaving the message and tucked the cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans before he opened the front door to the impatient knock. The guy standing on the porch had dark hair and wore a leather jacket, which was all Stiles had time to notice before he demanded. “Where’s Laura?”

The frisson of fear that slid up his spine didn’t stop Stiles from noticing that the guy was hot like burning, if you didn’t mind the perpetual grumpy cat face.

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “I haven’t seen Laura.”

A frown line appeared between the guy’s eyes as he concentrated on something only he could make out, confirming Stiles’ suspicion that he was a werewolf. If he was looking for the lie in Stiles’ words, he wasn’t going to find it. Stiles _hadn’t_ seen Laura, not for days, and he was worried.

“I know she’s been here,” hot werewolf guy said.

“You’re mistaken,” Stiles said, not even bothering to attempt to hide the lie that time.

“You’re lying,” hot werewolf guy snarled, and then he leapt for the open doorway, hand reaching for Stiles, only to come up short against the invisible barrier.

Hot werewolf guy stared at the empty space with wide, shocked eyes. Then he glared at Stiles and let his eyes flash blue.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Stiles said.

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Stiles was afraid for other people, his dad, Laura, but he wasn’t afraid for himself. He pushed back the sleeves of his shirt and watched hot werewolf guy’s gaze slide to the tattoos now visible on the insides of his wrists.

Hot werewolf guy shifted into his beta form and growled, “What did you do with my sister?”

For the first time during their confrontation, Stiles was the one wearing a shocked expression. “Derek Hale?”

Stiles reached out with his left hand to press the switch that ‘broke’ the mountain ash circle that had been built into the floor. He felt the circle open, and as soon as it did he reached out and grabbed Derek by the collar of his leather jacket and jerked him across the threshold.

Derek was too surprised by the move to fight back until he was inside the house. Stiles closed the circle, felt the protection of it like gossamer wings against his skin, and slammed the door shut, locking it.

Stiles’ mouth was moving before he even turned back to Derek. “What the hell are you doing here? Laura said you were still in New York.”

Derek closed clawed fingers around Stiles’ throat and pushed him back against the door he’d just secured. “Where. Is. My sister?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, not struggling against the hold, though he brought his hand up and circled his own fingers around Derek’s wrist.

“You just said you knew her,” Derek growled.

It did not do inappropriate things to Stiles’ below the belt region, and he would swear to that on a stack of bestiaries if he had to.

“I do know her,” Stiles said as he drew a calming rune onto Derek’s skin. “But I don’t know where she is right now.”

Derek’s fingers loosened and Stiles slowly pulled Derek’s hand away from his throat. “Come on, let me get you something to drink. Are you hungry?”

Derek growled, but his shift slipped away. “I’m not hungry or thirsty. I just want to know where Laura is.”

“You and me both, buddy,” Stiles said as he led Derek to the kitchen and pushed him into a chair at the table. “Sit.”

Derek growled, but he sat.

“I’ve left, like, ten messages for Laura,” Stiles said as he ducked into the refrigerator for sandwich fixings. “When’s the last time you heard from her?” he asked when he popped back out of the fridge with an armful of turkey, cheese, lettuce, and mayonnaise.

“A couple days ago,” Derek said, scowling.

“I hope you like turkey,” Stiles said, dumping his armload on the island. “I only let my dad have roast beef on special occasions.”

“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” Derek said.

“Well, I need something to do with my hands, so you’re going to take one for the team,” Stiles said as he untwisted the tie on the loaf of bread. “Did Laura tell you why she came back to Beacon Hills?” Stiles asked as he built the sandwich.

“She said she had to check on Peter and the property, something about getting a letter from the County,” Derek said.

Stiles’ hands didn’t pause as Derek related the reasons Laura had given him for making the trip to Beacon Hills after six years away. Not that Laura hadn’t visited Peter and met with County officials, but it hadn’t been the main reason she’d returned.

“But that wasn’t the whole truth.”

Stiles’ eyes darted over to Derek’s face.

“I didn’t question her too deeply because I wanted to believe her when she said she didn’t need me to come with her.”

Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to know that Derek smelled like a boatload of guilt right then.

“She wasn’t alone,” Stiles said.

“She’s alone now.”

Stiles didn’t have anything to say to that. He set the plated sandwich in front of Derek and pulled out his phone to call his dad.

“Who’re you calling?” Derek said around a mouthful of turkey sandwich.

“My Dad,” Stiles said, trying not to give off any pleased vibes that might make Derek throw down the sandwich. “He’s been looking for Laura, and he’ll definitely want to be here for this conversation.”

When his father picked up, Stiles ducked his head a little bit, as if he could be anywhere in the house and have Derek not hear him. “Hey, Dad,” Stiles said before his dad could ask him if he’d heard from Laura yet. “Derek’s here. Derek Hale.”

“Has he heard from Laura?” Dad asked.

“No,” Stiles said, feeling bad about having to say that when he knew his dad was hoping for better news.

“Shoot,” Dad sighed. “Does he know why Laura was in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “No.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, see you in a few.”

Stiles ended the call and set about making two more sandwiches. It was almost lunch time and a turkey sandwich in the hand meant no curly fries in the bush. Or something like that.

“Did Laura tell you she was staying here?” Stiles asked as he spread light mayonnaise on the bread.

“No. She mentioned that she was staying with family friends, but she didn’t say who,” Derek admitted grudgingly.

“Then how did you find us?” Stiles asked.

Derek shifted in the chair and scowled at Stiles.

“What, don’t want to give up any of your wolfy secrets?”

When Derek still refused to answer, Stiles said, “Seriously, what did you do, sniff us out? Get it?” Stiles said. “Sniff us out? It’s a pun because . . .”

“I get it,” Derek said with a scowl.

“You want another sandwich?” Stiles asked when he noticed that Derek had finished his.

Derek cast a guilty glance at the empty plate.

“Oh, hey, I never got you a drink!” Stiles said. “Water, juice, milk . . .”

“Milk,” Derek said quietly. “Please.”

Stiles didn’t let his shock show that Derek had actually answered him, much less said ‘please.’ He poured Derek a glass of milk and carried it and a second turkey sandwich over to Derek, trading out the full plate for the empty one.

Stiles tossed a bag of chips (baked, not fried) over the island to Derek with only a called, “Catch!” as a warning, and then went to work on his own sandwich. Stiles had the plates and two more glasses of milk on the table by the time the cruiser pulled into the driveway.

“That’ll be my Dad,” Stiles said when he saw Derek’s shoulders stiffen.

“What if it’s not?”

“Nothing supernatural can get in here,” Stiles said. He couldn’t keep his lips from twitching upward. “You found that out for yourself.”

Derek was glaring at Stiles, who looked back at him in amusement when Sheriff John Stilinski walked into the kitchen. He sighed loudly.

“I see you’ve met my son,” Dad said to Derek. “Stiles, stop . . . doing whatever you’re doing.”

Stiles gave his dad an innocent look. “I’m not doing anything!”

Both Dad and Derek snorted. Stiles didn’t know whether he or Derek was more surprised by it. Derek looked at Stiles’ dad, probably more to not be looking at Stiles than for any other reason, and recognition filled his face.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Derek said. “I remember you.”

“I remember you, too, son,” Dad said, gripping Derek’s shoulder. “I want you to know that we’re doing everything we can to find Laura.”

“Like what?” Derek said, then shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that, just, what _are_ you doing?”

Dad set a Beacon County Sheriff Department file on the table and took off his Sheriff’s jacket, hung it over the back of the chair. “We filed a missing person’s report, though it would carry more weight if we could get you to sign off on it, now that you’re here.” He pulled out the chair and sat, nodding his thanks to Stiles for the sandwich. “We put out a BOLO for the Camaro, we’ve questioned anyone who might have seen her, and we’ve tried to ping the GPS on her phone, but it’s either been turned off or the battery died.”

“There has to be something else you can do,” Derek said.

“Unofficially,” Dad said, then looked at Stiles.

“We tried a locator spell,” Stiles said. “It didn’t work.”

“Why wouldn’t it work?” Derek said.

“The connection might’ve been . . . tenuous,” Stiles said.

“What does that mean?” Derek demanded.

“She might have been out of range,” Stiles said. “The items I used might not have been strong enough. I might’ve screwed up the spell. Or . . .”

“Or?”

“She might be dead,” Stiles said, the words almost as difficult for him to speak as they were for Derek to hear.

Stiles and his dad waited while Derek regained control over himself at having his own fear spoken out loud.

“I think it’s time that you told me why Laura really came back to Beacon Hills,” Derek said.

“I agree,” Dad said. “Maybe it’ll help us find her.”

Dad opened the file just far enough to slide out the photo that was on top. He held it out to Derek, who took it with a steady hand.

“Do you recognize it?” Dad asked.

“A revenge spiral,” Derek said, monotone.

“Do you know why anyone would want revenge on your family?” Dad said.

“ _On_ our family?” Derek said. “No.”

“ _For_ your family?” Dad said.

“No,” Derek said, tossing the photo onto the table, but he’d hesitated just long enough for Stiles (and his dad, the Sheriff, who hadn’t been elected just because of his good looks) to recognize the lie.

“Your family hasn’t lived in Beacon Hills for six years,” Dad mused. “What reason could there be to seek revenge now, whether it’s against your family or on their behalf? We weren’t able to figure that out, but if you know something, son, it might help us find your sister.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue.

“Good,” Dad said. “Now I know you didn’t kill your sister to become the Alpha.”

Derek’s eyes widened in surprise. “I would never . . .”

“I know,” Dad said soothingly. “And now I have proof of it.”

Derek’s shoulders slumped. “Why would you believe me? My eyes are still blue.”

“I don’t know if you remember, Derek, but my wife Claudia was good friends with your mother.”

“I remember,” Derek said, but Stiles could see the confusion as to what his dad had meant by it.

“Okay, so, the last thing that happened was the fire . . .”

Dad was taking a bite of his sandwich, so he didn’t see Derek flinch at the mention of the fire.

“The fire,” Stiles repeated.

Derek’s gaze bore into Stiles’ forehead.

“What about the fire?” Dad said.

Stiles stared at Derek, the idea stirring in his brain too horrifying to even contemplate. And yet . . . “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

The way Derek’s face closed off only confirmed Stiles’ suspicion. “Oh my god,” Stiles said. “Oh my god, someone tried to murder your entire family.”

“But who would . . . Hunters?” Dad said. “But there’s been peace in Beacon Hills for years.”

“Someone didn’t want peace,” Stiles guessed.

“She said we were monsters,” Derek said.

“She who?” Dad said. “Son, who said that?”

“Kate Argent,” Derek said, and then he started shaking.

Stiles didn’t know if Derek was having a panic attack, or a PTSD flashback, but either way he had to do something. He jumped out of his chair so quickly that he got his feet tangled up in the legs. Stiles caught himself, then threw himself around the table to kneel beside Derek. He took Derek’s hand in his and pushed up the cuff of his leather jacket, then began tracing runes on the bare skin – peace, calm, serenity.

Stiles could feel Derek relaxing, the tension easing out of him, and wasn’t surprised when Derek jerked his hand out of Stiles’ hold.

“What did you do to me?” Derek said.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said dryly.

Dad was looking worriedly at Derek. “Feeling okay now, son?”

“I’m fine,” Derek said shortly.

“Does not like to accept help,” Stiles said as if filling out a questionnaire. “Check.”

Derek just glared at him, which meant he was back to normal.

“Stiles,” Dad chided.

Instead of responding to that, Stiles said, “So who would be looking for revenge on behalf of the Hale family, and why would they wait six years?”

“Maybe they couldn’t before,” Dad said, running with Stiles’ question. “Because they didn’t know about the fire, or they didn’t know that it was anything other than an accident. Or because they couldn’t get here until now.”

“Or maybe they were in a coma,” Stiles threw out jokingly.

Both Derek and Dad looked at him.

“I wasn’t serious,” Stiles said. “Laura even said she visited Peter and he was still in the coma.”

“But what if he wasn’t?” Dad said. He turned to Derek. “Could he fake something like that?”

“I . . . don’t know. I guess it’s possible. If he didn’t let himself heal . . .”

“I could check,” Stiles said. “I could touch him and . . .”

“If he’s really awake, that might be too dangerous,” Dad said.

“I don’t mean I should confront him. I could go see him about Laura, tell him we’re worried. See if he gives anything away. Derek can be there, too.”

“Why don’t we try something a little less dangerous first?” Dad said.

“Like what?” Stiles said.

“Surveillance,” Dad said.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but Dad ignored him. He wrapped the half sandwich he hadn’t finished in a napkin to take with him, then pulled on his jacket.

“I’m going to borrow a bug and a receiver from work. Derek can buy some flowers and deliver them to Peter’s room tomorrow to plant it.”

“Why does Derek get to go?” Stiles whined.

“Because Peter would expect Derek, not someone he barely knows. Besides, if Peter is involved, there’s no sense giving away the fact that Derek’s got backup.” Dad dropped a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You’re welcome to stay here; Laura was using the guestroom.”

Stiles nibbled at his sandwich while he listened to his dad leave the house, and then the cruiser start up and pull out of the driveway.

“What if it’s not Peter?” Derek said.

Stiles shrugged. “Then we’re back to stage one, but at least we’ve marked someone off the list of suspects?”

Derek didn’t respond. Finally he said, “I want to see Laura’s things.”

“Sure!” Stiles said, glad to have something to do. He led Derek upstairs to the guestroom, then stood aside so Derek could enter. Stiles fidgeted at the mess. “Sorry. We went through her things looking for a clue when she didn’t come back. But maybe you can find something we didn’t.”

Derek acted as if he didn’t notice the mess, just sat on the bed and began touching Laura’s belongings. Stiles considered leaving so Derek could have some privacy, but part of him thought that Derek shouldn’t be alone. Another part thought that Derek might disappear if he turned his back.

“You said you sniffed us out . . .”

“You said that.”

Stiles shrugged. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Does that mean you can tell where else Laura has been?”

“Yes,” Derek said. “But most of them were faint. Either old, or she hadn’t spent much time there.”

“Like where?”

“A coffee shop. The library. The house.”

“What was Laura doing at the library?”

Derek and Stiles both looked at each other, but it was Stiles who spoke. “She was researching the fire. Why wouldn’t she tell us that?” Stiles said, taking in the room with fresh eyes. Where would Laura hide something like that?

“Look under the mattress,” Stiles said as he pulled the top drawer out of the dresser and turned it upside down to see if anything had been taped to the bottom.

“For what?” Derek said, even as he started clearing shampoo and lotion off the bed and dumping the bottles into Laura’s overnight bag.

“Her notes,” Stiles said.

The room looked like a tornado had struck it when they were done. All the drawers were pulled out and Stiles even had Derek tip the dresser so he could check the bottom. Derek made Stiles slide under the bed to check that she hadn’t hidden anything between the box spring and the frame.

“She must have it on her,” Stiles said as he rehung the mirror they’d taken down so he could make sure he’d gotten all of the dust bunnies out of his hair.

“We need to know what she knew,” Derek said.

Stiles checked the time. The library was still open. “Let’s go, then.”

“Go where?”

“To the library.”

~*~*~*~

Mr. Tinson gave Stiles the stink eye from behind the check-out desk. Stiles waved and watched the man’s eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong with him?” Derek said.

“He hates me.”

“Why?”

“I spilled soda on a book once.”

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, twice. No more than three times, tops.”

Derek snorted.

Stiles ignored him and walked further into the library until he found Mrs. Carmichael in the stacks.

“Stiles!” Mrs. Carmichael said. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m doing good, Mrs. C.,” Stiles said. “How are you doing?”

“Better,” Mrs. Carmichael said sadly. “Not great, but I’m getting there.”

Mr. Carmichael had passed in his sleep the past November, a few weeks before Thanksgiving.

“Good,” Stiles said, giving her a hug.

“What do you need?” Mrs. Carmichael said brusquely, as if to hide her momentary show of emotion.

“We . . . Oh, this is my friend Derek. We need to look at some old newspapers.”

“From when?”

“Six years ago,” Stiles said.

“They’d still be on microfiche,” Mrs. Carmichael warned. “We only got a new computer system a couple of years ago and getting them all on there is time consuming. You know, this is the second time this week someone’s come in here and asked to look at the newspapers from back then.”

Derek stiffened beside him, and Stiles tried to give off ‘act cool’ vibes.

“You mean Laura?” Stiles said.

“Laura Hale, yes! Such a nice girl. She never came back, though, to pick them up.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles said.

“The printer was acting up, so I offered to print off the pages she needed and call her when they were ready, but she never picked them up.”

“Can we see them?” Stiles said excitedly. “I mean, Laura had to leave Beacon Hills unexpectedly, and I was going to redo her research because I didn’t think she’d gotten to it, but if she already did it, that would make my life so much easier.”

“I don’t know if that would be proper, Stiles.”

“This is Derek,” Stiles said, grabbing Derek’s arm and shoving him forward. “Laura’s brother.”

Mrs. Carmichael turned shrewd eyes onto Derek. “Derek Hale,” she said. “I should’ve recognized you.” She leaned in. “You look so much like your mother, dear. Are you still reading?”

Derek’s cheeks went pink and Stiles wanted to explore that, but they needed those printouts so he refrained.

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek said.

“You always were such a quiet young man,” Mrs. Carmichael mused, making Derek’s cheeks go even pinker. “Alright, I’ll get them. But we keep this just between us, okay?”

Stiles mimed zipping his lips.

~*~

Derek read the printouts while Stiles drove them home in Betty.

“How’d you get here, anyway?” Stiles had asked when they left the house.

“I flew,” Derek said shortly.

“How’d you get to Beacon Hills from the airport?” Stiles pushed.

“They invented these nifty things called taxis,” Derek said.

“Funny, big guy. So were you able to sniff out Laura from inside the taxi?”

“No.”

“I need more than that,” Stiles said.

“I had the taxi drop me off and I walked.”

“You walked all through town and ended up at our house?”

“Something like that,” Derek said.

No matter what he’d said, Stiles couldn’t get Derek to say more than that. He looked over now. “Anything we didn’t already know?”

“No.”

Stiles could see the tick at the corner of Derek’s jaw. He knew this was bringing up bad memories for Derek, but they needed to know what Laura had discovered. Stiles had tried to hold out hope that Laura was alright, even though she hadn’t called and the locator spell had been a bust, but with Derek’s appearance and the fact that Laura hadn’t contacted him, either . . . Well, Stiles was losing hope.

“What did she print off?”

“An article reporting on the fire, an article on the accidental ruling, and obituaries,” Derek said, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, man, I know this sucks,” Stiles said.

The rest of the ride home was made in silence. Once they were safely inside the house, Stiles retrieved his laptop from his room. By the time Stiles got back to the kitchen, Derek had taken his leather jacket off and hung it over the back of a chair. Stiles nearly tripped over his tongue at the way Derek’s t-shirt fit across his shoulders. Derek gave Stiles a look that he ignored.

Stiles set up his laptop on the table and powered it on. He ignored the printouts that were spread out on the table in front of Derek.

“What are you doing?” Derek said.

“Looking up the police and fire reports from . . . back then,” Stiles said.

“You’re hacking into the Sheriff Department computer system?” Derek said, incredulous.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stiles said. “I’m using my Dad’s password to get in.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up in judgement. “Is that better than hacking in?”

“Quicker,” Stiles said.

Derek snorted, but he didn’t tell Stiles not to do it. They were both silent while Stiles looked up the reports he wanted. Stiles wasn’t used to remaining quiet, but the situation seemed to call for it, and so the steam he normally let off through non-stop talking found its escape in the bouncing of his knee.

“Stop that,” Derek said in annoyance.

“Bite me,” Stiles said. He glanced up at Derek through his lashes. “Not like that.” Still, he dropped his hand beneath the table and drew the familiar runes on his thigh. Stiles took a breath, let it out, and the tension bled from him.

“What did you just do?” Derek said, frowning.

“Same thing I did to you earlier,” Stiles said.

“Which is?”

“Calmed you.”

“How?”

Stiles shrugged. “Don’t know, exactly. I just know I can. It has a lot to do with belief, actually.”

Once he sent both documents to the wireless printer in his room, Stiles closed out of the BHSD system and cleared his browser history just in case. He left the laptop on the table while he ran upstairs to get the police and fire reports. When he returned to the kitchen, Derek had turned the laptop to face himself and was typing on the keyboard.

“Did you think of something else?” Stiles said.

“No, just answering an e-mail,” Derek said. “I thought Laura might have tried to get a hold of me that way.”

“Oh.” Stiles sat across from Derek and started reading through the police report.

Derek held out his hand when he was done with the e-mail. Stiles looked at Derek’s hand, then his face.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Derek’s mouth was set in a grim line. “No, but I’m going to look at them anyway.”

Stiles hesitated, then slid the police report over to Derek. He hadn’t quite finished with it, but he thought it might be the lesser of two evils. Stiles waited until Derek, jaw set, began reading before turning his attention to the fire report.

Stiles was silent when he’d finished reading both reports all the way through. He’d known about the fire – everyone who lived in Beacon Hills knew – but he’d only been 10-years old when it had happened. His mom had died two years before and he was studying with Deaton on the weekends as well as keeping up with school work, and aside from knowing that something bad had happened and that Derek wasn’t in school anymore, it really hadn’t been on his radar. Meeting Laura and Derek again, reading the clinical, horrific details of the fire, made it all too real. And if he felt that way, it must be making Derek’s own suffering into a fresh new hell.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said.

Derek scowled at Stiles, but his eyebrows said, for what?

“That you had to read all this, relive it.”

“I never stopped living it,” Derek said, immediately looking annoyed that he’d admitted to anything.

Stiles made a sound that made Derek’s head come up. “You think that’s funny?”

Stiles shook his head. “No. I think about my Mom all the time.”

Derek nodded. His face got all pinched up like he wanted to apologize, but couldn’t quite bring himself to. Instead he growled, “What did any of this even tell us?” his arm sweeping the reports off the table.

Stiles bent and retrieved the pages, reassembled the reports while Derek sat stiff at the table, looking like he was ready to jump out of his skin.

“We learned one thing,” Stiles said, rising slowly to stand beside Derek. Risking having his arm torn off, Stiles reached out and placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder, squeezed.

“Don’t do that,” Derek said.

“Do what?”

Derek glared at Stiles’ hand. “Manage me.”

Stiles looked at the hand sitting innocently on Derek’s shoulder. He frowned, but lifted it.

“What did we learn?” Derek said, changing the subject.

If he thought talking about the fire was less uncomfortable than letting Stiles offer him a comforting touch, then Derek really had some issues. But since Stiles had his own issues, he didn’t call Derek on it.

“The name of the investigator who lied about the fire being an accident.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Derek said.

Stiles put a hand back on Derek’s shoulder to keep him in place. “Whoa, cowboy. We don’t even know if he still lives in Beacon Hills.”

“How do we find out?”

“By letting my fingers do the walking.”

Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles ignored him. He retook his seat, set the reports to the side, and slid over the laptop. Stiles made an elaborate show of cracking his knuckles that earned him another eye roll, then pulled up Google and typed in the insurance investigator’s name.

~*~*~*~

Stiles and Derek had pulled their chairs together and were both looking at the laptop screen when Stiles’ dad walked into the kitchen. “Stiles. Derek.”

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said absently, then, “Da-a-ad,” when he realized that his dad was home. “You’re home. What time . . . ? Oh,” Stiles said when he looked up to see that it had gotten dark outside. “Shoot! Supper, I didn’t . . .”

Dad indicated the pizza boxes in his arms and the bag hanging off one finger. “I figured you’d be busy.”

“Oh, no,” Stiles said. “I was going to make something healthy!”

“I got salad,” Dad said. “Enough for everyone. But I’m having two slices of meat lovers, too. Don’t argue,” he added before Stiles could. “Clear off the table.”

Stiles turned back to the table (and the illicit reports) so quickly that he tripped over his own feet. His dad, used to Stiles’ flailing, didn’t react and Derek just judged him with his eyebrows.

Stiles stacked the reports and newspaper printouts together so that the reports were hidden on the bottom of the pile, and set the papers and laptop on the counter. He helped his dad with plates, utensils, paper towels and drinks, and then they all helped themselves to salad and slices of pizza from the boxes set out on the island.

“How do you like New York, Derek?” Dad asked after they’d all practically inhaled their first slice and had started on their second.

“I like it,” Derek said. “There’s a lot to do. And you can get lost there.”

Stiles just stared at Derek, but his dad, being more thoughtful and tactful, turned to Stiles and said, “You ready for lacrosse practice next week?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Sitting on the bench really doesn’t require much effort, Dad.”

“Getting _off_ the bench does,” Dad said lightly.

“Yeah, right. You’ve seen the guys on our team,” Stiles said. “The only way I’m getting off the bench is if they all come down with a stomach bug at the same time.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, son,” Dad said. “What about you, Derek, did you play sports in school?”

“Basketball,” Derek said.

Dad continued to talk to Stiles about inconsequential things, occasionally drawing Derek into the conversation. When they were all full, Stiles put the leftover pizza (all meat lovers – despite his dad’s comment about eating two slices, he’d only eaten one, and even Derek had some of the veggie) in the fridge while his dad washed up the few dishes they’d dirtied.

Dad got out a beer for himself and asked Derek if he wanted one. Derek declined, but Stiles flailed anyway.

“Why does he get offered a beer?”

“Because he’s old enough to drink one,” Dad said.

“How do you know? I mean, look at this smooshy baby face.” Stiles grabbed Derek’s face and squished his cheeks.

Derek nearly crossed his eyes to look down at Stiles’ hand, and then raised his eyes to Stiles’ face. “If you want to keep your fingers, you’ll remove them,” Derek said.

Stiles, of course, took that as a challenge and left his fingers right where they were. Derek growled and snapped his teeth at Stiles’ fingers. Stiles snatched his hand back with a yelp.

“Oh my god! Dad, Derek almost ate my fingers!”

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Nothing more than you deserved,” Dad said without an ounce of sympathy.

“Rude,” Stiles said.

Dad sat at the table and took a sip of beer, then said, “Okay, let me see them.”

“See what?” Stiles said.

“The police and fire reports you obtained illegally.”

Stiles gaped like a fish. “What reports?” he tried, but the effort was weak.

“Do you know what happens,” Dad began conversationally, “when you’re logged into your computer at work and someone logs you in on a different computer?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Um, no?”

“You get an alert,” Dad said. “Do you know what I received today?”

“Uh, an alert?”

“Very good,” Dad said sarcastically. “Did you really think we had no security measures at all?”

“I know you do, that’s why I didn’t try to hack in.”

Dad shook his head. He held out his hand. “Hand ‘em over, kid.”

Stiles retrieved the reports and handed them to his dad, who immediately began to read them.

“Don’t you already know all this?” Stiles asked as he took a seat at the table.

“It’s been a while,” Dad said.

Stiles fidgeted in silence while his dad went through the reports. When he was finished, Dad set the reports aside and scrubbed a hand over his face. He took a long drink of beer and looked off into space for a few moments. He sighed, then got up and left the room.

Stiles watched after his dad with wide eyes. “I hope he’s not going for the scotch.”

His dad gave Stiles an irritated look when he stepped back into the kitchen. “I wasn’t going for the scotch.”

“What were you going for?” Stiles said, eyes going to the file his dad held down by his side.

“You never saw this,” Dad warned.

Stiles crossed his heart.

Dad looked between Stiles and Derek, then dropped the file in the middle of the table. Stiles’ mouth dropped open when he saw the official BHSD logo.

“Is that . . . ?”

Stiles and Derek reached for the file at the same time. Derek gave Stiles a look that said he’d win in a tug of war, and since Stiles knew that to be true, he released the file and pulled a chair up next to Derek so they could both read the file, which was sparse given the accidental ruling by the investigator.

“What does this tell us?” Stiles said when the file didn’t reveal any new information.

“It tells us that we need to bring Garrison Myers in for questioning,” Dad said.

“He was fired from the insurance company for fraud,” Stiles said. “He drives bus for Beacon Hills High School now.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “How did you find all that out?”

“Google,” Stiles said.

“Google gave you the information that he’d been fired?”

Stiles nodded.

“And hired by the school?”

“And his address and phone number,” Stiles said. “You’d be surprised by the things you can find in an internet search.”

Dad waggled his fingers. “Let me see.”

Stiles grabbed his laptop and showed his dad the pages he’d saved. “You’re going to bring him in for questioning, right?”

“Yes,” Dad said, “but it’s going to have to wait.”

“Wait for what?” Derek said before Stiles could.

Stiles pointed at Derek as if to say, what he said.

“For Myers to return to town,” Dad said. “He’s visiting family over winter break.”

“You already knew he was involved?” Stiles said.

“If the fire he ruled an accident was actually murder by arson, then he had to be involved,” Dad said.

“But . . . you hadn’t even reread the reports yet!” Stiles said.

“That case was . . . memorable. I remembered who the investigator was back then. It wasn’t the first time I’d worked with him. Though even after he’d been fired I never thought to reopen that particular case,” Dad said, sounding upset with himself.

“That’s alright,” Derek said, surprising Stiles. “We didn’t give you any reason to think the fire was anything other than accidental.”

“Why didn’t you?” Dad said earnestly.

“Because we couldn’t tell anyone that hunters had burned our house down in an attempt to kill our entire family because we were werewolves. And I . . .”

“You what?” Dad said.

Derek shook his head and averted his eyes. Stiles reached out to touch Derek’s arm, but a glare made Stiles pull his hand back. Dad raised his eyebrows.

“What?” Stiles said. “I was just going to . . . “ Stiles darted his hand out and patted Derek’s shoulder in a quick there-there gesture before yanking it back.

“Alright,” Dad said, “but you can’t just do your . . . wow-woo stuff on people without their permission.”

“My ‘woo-woo’ stuff?” Stiles said. “And I don’t see why not, if I can make people feel better . . .”

“I don’t deserve to feel better,” Derek said, and then he frowned, as if he hadn’t mean to say that out loud.

Derek pushed his chair back angrily, but Stiles closed his fingers around Derek’s arm before he could stand. Derek glared at Stiles’ hand, and Stiles slowly released his grip and pulled his hand back. He tucked it into his lap, just glad that it was still attached. He didn’t back down, though.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked.

“Out.”

Stiles gave Derek an unimpressed look. “Out where?”

“To look for Laura,” Derek said.

“It’s dark,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek flashed blue eyes at Stiles. “I can see in the dark. And I have other senses.”

“So you’re, what, going to wander around town to see if you can use your enhanced senses to see Laura, or hear her, or . . .”

“Don’t say it,” Derek snarled.

“. . . sniff her out?”

“Yes!” Derek snapped. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“You already did all that, Derek,” Stiles said.

“So I’ll do it again!”

“It’s what led you here, right?” Stiles went on, ignoring Derek’s last outburst. “And if you’d found a better trail you’d have followed it, right?”

“I might have missed something,” Derek said.

“I hate to admit it, Derek, but Stiles is right . . .”

“Of course I’m right!”

“. . . in this very isolated instance. You’ve looked for Laura, _we’ve_ looked for Laura. If she’s still in Beacon Hills, she’s well hidden. We’ve got our ducks in a row here. We’re going to question Myers the moment he steps back into Beacon County, and tomorrow you’re going to visit your uncle to see if you can sense anything off and plant that bug so we can hear what happens after you leave. Waiting sucks, but until then that’s all we can do. And try to get some rest so we’re prepared for whatever happens next.”

Derek was silent for a moment, then he said, “I hate waiting.”

“It never gets easier,” Dad said.

“You know what helps?” Stiles said.

Derek raised an eyebrow that Stiles took as, no, Stiles, what helps?

“Movies. Have you seen ‘Star Wars’?”

“Who hasn’t?” Derek said.

Stiles popped out of his chair and clapped Derek on the shoulder. “You,” he said, making guns out of the index finger of both hands and pointing them at Derek, “are my favorite. I’m making popcorn.” He bounced over to the counter. “You in, Pops?”

“No,” Dad said. “I’m going to go take a shower. Maybe I’ll join you later.”

Stiles didn’t see whatever look Derek gave his dad to prompt it, but Dad added, “He means well.”

“I’m standing right here,” Stiles said as he measured popcorn into the air popper. “You can pour juice,” he told Derek after he heard his dad leave the kitchen. He took two of the glasses they’d used for supper out of the dish drainer and set them on the counter, then got out the large mutli-colored ‘fiesta’ plastic bowl they’d used for popcorn as far back as Stiles could remember.

Derek carried the drinks and Stiles set out the coasters his mom had been adamant they use, then shoved the bowl of popcorn into Derek’s hands. Their fingers met when Derek grabbed for the bowl and Stiles felt a small tingle that he thought must’ve been from static electricity.

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “Sit, I’ll put in the movie. Do you have a preference?”

“Why would you ever not begin with the first one?” Derek said.

Stiles chuckled. “Yep, definitely my favorite.”

He put in the movie, then sat close to Derek on the couch so they could share the popcorn. They were silent during the first part of the movie (if Stiles spouting quotes once in a while counted as silent), their hands occasionally brushing when they went for popcorn at the same time, sending a prickle of heat down Stiles’ neck.

“You need to stop doing that,” Derek said. He didn’t sound angry, just weary.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut in the middle of quoting, “Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

“Sorry.” Stiles made a zipping motion across his lips.

Derek snorted. “Not that, though yes, that, too. The touching.”

Stiles straightened, not realizing that he’d slumped over until his shoulder brushed Derek’s. “Sorry, personal bubble, got it.” He shifted away so there was a little more space between them. “I’m not usually so touchy-feely. Except with my Dad. And Scott.”

“Not the personal bubble,” Derek growled, as if Stiles was being purposely dense. “Not _just_ the personal bubble,” Derek amended when Stiles made to move back closer. “The, the taking my emotional pain, or whatever it is you’re doing!”

“I’m . . . not doing that,” Stiles said.

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not. I’ve only done that twice. Once when you were all . . .” Stiles closed both hands around his own throat and mimed being choked to death. “. . . and I thought you might be going to kill me. And in the kitchen when you looked like you were going to faint.”

Derek glared at that.

“But, dude, I swear, that’s it.”

When Derek still didn’t look convinced, Stiles said, “I can’t just touch you and have it work, I have to draw the runes.”

“Runes?”

“Yeah, like . . .” At Derek’s glare Stiles’ hand reversed direction and he drew a rune on his own arm.

Derek frowned. “What did you just do?”

“What did you sense?”

“Your heartbeat slowed down,” Derek said.

“You heard that? Cool! I basically just told myself to calm down.”

“How does that work?”

Stiles chuckled. “I told you before, dude, I have no idea. Seriously.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Stop calling me ‘dude’.”

“Sure thing, big guy.”

“If you don’t know what you’re doing, then how did you learn how to do it?”

“Deaton,” Stiles said. “When I was six the doctor diagnosed me with ADHD. My Mom didn’t want to put me on meds so she went to Deaton for a second opinion.”

“Your mother got a second opinion from a vet?” Derek said slowly.

“Yeah, apparently he’s more than just a vet. Anyway, he told my mom that I didn’t have ADHD, though to anyone without knowledge of the supernatural it might appear that way.”

“What did you have?” Derek asked suspiciously.

“He called it a spark. He told me that it was the spark looking for an outlet that was making me act hyper and distracted. Once he showed me how to use it, I stopped feeling that awful itch under my skin that never let me sit still for very long.”

“What can you do with it?” Derek said.

“Deaton said it was kind of like a healing thing. Came in handy when I started getting panic attacks after my mom got sick.” Stiles gave Derek a weak smile. “He taught me some basic protection runes, too, but we’ve only just started getting into the more in depth things I can do with my . . . talent.”

“Like what?” Derek asked.

Stiles took a deep breath and concentrated. A moment later a little ball of light appeared in the palm of his hand. He grinned at Derek. “I learned this for in case I run into a vampire.”

“Vampires aren’t real,” Derek scoffed.

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles said, letting the light go out. “I can’t believe you even said that with a straight face. Also, you’ve totally gone and jinxed us for sure, now.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Some things are easier with skin-to-skin contact, like telling you to calm down so you don’t kill me, and other things I can do by drawing a rune in the air.

“Like what?”

“I once drew all the oxygen out of the air so I could blow out a candle,” Stiles said.

“Did it work?”

“Of course it worked,” Stiles said. “I also passed out due to lack of oxygen.”

Derek laughed, then stopped himself, but it was a nice sound while it lasted, even if it was at Stiles’ expense.

“I’ve since learned that intent and belief matter, so I can blow out a candle without also killing myself,” Stiles said.

Derek’s gaze fell to Stiles’ wrists, where he’d absently been stroking the skin. “And the tattoos?”

Stiles glanced down, even though he knew what he’d see. “They help me focus when I need to do something that takes more power, or when I can’t be in direct contact with someone.”

“So you could’ve been influencing me,” Derek said, but it didn’t sound like an accusation, more like he was trying to understand.

“Dude, if it was that easy my dad wouldn’t still be fighting me on eating a healthy diet.”

Derek looked contemplative, then he glared at Stiles. “Don’t call me ‘dude’.”

Stiles laughed and rewound the DVD.

~*~*~*~

Derek wasn’t in the house when Stiles woke up the next morning, but the duffel bag he’d hidden in the bushes before confronting Stiles was still in the guestroom along with all of Laura’s things, so Stiles wasn’t too worried. He showered and got dressed, then started bacon frying. He didn’t normally eat a large breakfast in the morning, even on weekends and holidays, owing more to being too lazy than not being hungry, but he figured that Derek would want more than a bowl of cereal or a Pop-tart for breakfast.

Stiles was just transferring the crisply fried bacon to a paper towel covered plate when Derek came in wiping sweat off his forehead. “How was your run?”

“Good,” Derek said.

“Find anything?” Stiles said, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Derek gave a short shake of his head.

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Over easy,” Derek said, “but I’m going to take a shower first.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, then, “Hey!” He slapped at the hand that reached in to snag half his Pop-tart, but Derek was too quick.

At nine o’clock they were sitting in the parking lot at Beacons Crossing Home. “Want me to come in with you?”

“No,” Derek said, but it wasn’t unkind. “I need to do this myself.”

“Alright,” Stiles said. “But just know that you don’t have to.”

Derek got out of the Jeep without answering. Stiles waited until Derek had reached the front door to slip in the earbud. Everything the bug picked up would be recorded, and they didn’t expect anything incriminating to occur while Derek was still in the room, but Stiles told himself that he wouldn’t know if Derek was alright if he didn’t listen in.

The earbud was silent – the bug was wrapped in a soft cloth to keep it from giving off any feedback that Peter, if he was awake, might hear – but Stiles imagined Derek walking up to the reception desk, then into an elevator and down a hall before reaching Peter’s room. Stiles knew that Derek couldn’t just plant the bug and leave, but he watched the minutes tick by, growing ansty until he traced a rune on the bare skin on the back of his hand. He took a deep breath and settled in to wait.

Finally the rustling of cloth in his ear had Stiles sitting up straight and listening hard. Derek’s voice covered any sound he might’ve made while pressing the bug to the underside of the window sill. “I’m sorry it took so long to visit.” Derek’s voice was loud and clear over the bug. “I’ll be back.”

Two minutes later Derek opened Betty’s passenger side door and slid into the Jeep. Stiles handed the earbuds to Derek and started the engine. He drove in silence while Derek listened to whatever he could hear through the earbuds, pulling into a parking lot when they reached the spot Derek had said would be far enough away that Peter wouldn’t be able to overhear them.

“Anything?” Stiles said when he turned off the engine.

Derek shook his head. He unplugged the earbuds so they could both listen to the silence coming from the bug. Once there was the sound of sheets moving, but they didn’t know if Peter had shifted or whether a nurse had come in to check on him and straighten his blankets, even though they hadn’t heard any footsteps.

Forty-five minutes later a woman’s voice said, “How are you doing this morning, Mr. Hale?” in a perky voice. The door closed before she continued in a tone that was much less perky. “I hear you had a visitor this morning.”

“Yes, my nephew was here. It seems my niece is missing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Jennifer?”

“Why would I?” Nurse Jennifer replied.

Derek growled. “She’s lying.”

Peter spoke again. “Your heart didn’t even skip a beat, but then you’d know how to hide that, wouldn’t you?”

“Why would I need to? I came to you, remember?”

“Why was that again?” Peter said.

“Because revenge is something we both understand. I need your help, and you need mine. Don’t ever forget that.”

Nurse Jennifer left and the bug went silent once more. Stiles, sick of just sitting around, started the Jeep.

“Where are we going?” Derek said.

“To see Deaton.”

“We need to find this Nurse Jennifer,” Derek said. “She knows where Laura is.”

“You think she’s just going to lead us to her secret lair?”

Derek glared. Stiles ignored it. He was kinda getting used to it.

“We need information,” Stiles said. “We need to find out who this Jennifer person is and what she wants revenge for, and more importantly, how she was able to take on an Alpha werewolf.”

“She’s not human,” Derek deduced.

“Bingo! Well, not just human, anyway.” Stiles handed his cell phone to Derek. “Call my Dad and put it on speaker.”

A moment later Stiles’ dad answered.

“Hey, Daddio,” Stiles said in response.

His dad sighed. “Why are you calling?”

“We did the thing,” Stiles said.

“Okay, and?”

“We got some information. I don’t suppose you want to look up someone for us. I mean, I guess I could have Danny hack into the Beacons Crossing computer, but . . .”

“Please do not encourage your friends into a life of crime,” Dad said.

“Does that mean you’re going to . . .?”

“Yes. Give me the name.”

“Jennifer. She’s Peter’s nurse. One of them, anyway.”

“That’s not much to go on, kiddo,” Dad said.

“You’re the Sheriff, you can get her last name from the home, right?” Stiles said.

Dad sighed.

“Great! Meet us at Deaton’s when you’re done? And bring lunch.”

“It’s just after ten o’clock in the morning,” Dad said.

“Brunch, then. Thanks!” Stiles said, then indicated that Derek should end the call.

They took the transmitter with them into the Animal Clinic, Derek wearing the earbud so they could continue to monitor the bug. Mandy, Deaton’s receptionist of three years who had a crush on Stiles’ dad, told Stiles that Deaton was with a patient, so he and Derek waited in the hard chairs with a blonde woman who had a cat carrier at her feet, and a balding man with a Dachshund in his lap. The cat went spastic when it sensed Derek (even though Derek sat as far away from it as he could and Stiles painted ‘calm the fuck down’ runes in the air), while the dog barked bravely and then rolled to its back and bared its belly as if begging Derek to pet him.

“Maybe we should wait outside,” Derek said.

“Actually, it might be a good idea if you waited in my office,” Deaton said.

Stiles’ head jerked up. “Hey, Dr. D.!”

Deaton winced. “I’ve asked you not to call me that, Stiles.”

“I know.”

Deaton stepped through the swinging door and gestured behind him. “You know the way,” he told Stiles, adding to Derek, ”Don’t let him touch anything.”

“Hey!” Stiles said, but Deaton was already paying attention to the woman with the cat.

Derek snorted.

“Hey!” Stiles said again.

“This is mountain ash,” Derek said as he followed Stiles to the low wooden wall separating the waiting area from the rest of the clinic.

“Yes,” Stiles said. “It’s alright,” he assured Derek.

Derek gave Stiles a long, hard look, and then stepped through the gate. Stiles led the way to Deaton’s office. Behind him, Deaton said, “Why don’t I have Mandy take you back to the exam room so Snuggles has a moment to calm down while I see what’s going on with Dexter.”

Stiles chuckled.

“What?”

“Dexter.”

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, come on. Dexter? That little thing named after a vigilante killer, you don’t see the irony?”

As soon as they closed the door of Deaton’s office behind them, Stiles began exploring.

“Don’t touch anything,” Derek said absently.

“I won’t,” Stiles said as he reached out to pick up a bottle.

Derek slapped his hand.

“Ow!”

Derek’s eyebrows dared Stiles to do anything about it. “Haven’t you been in here before?”

“Yes, but never alone. For some reason, Deaton doesn’t trust me.”

Derek’s eyebrows couldn’t imagine why.

“Shut up,” Stiles said. He moved away from the cabinet and stood behind Deaton’s desk. He held his hands out as if he were a director framing a shot. “Do you think he uses a ruler to get everything spaced so perfectly?”

“No,” Derek said. “Because they’re not evenly spaced.”

“Yes they are, just look at them!”

“I am looking at them. The distance between the corner of the blotter and the phone is four inches. The distance between the other corner and the adding machine is only three and one quarter.”

“No way!” Stiles said. “You can tell that?” He leaned down so his face was close to the surface of the desk and studied the alignment of the objects on said desk. His gaze raised to Derek’s face in time to see the corner of his lips quirk. “Asshole,” Stiles said without any heat as he straightened.

He wandered the office looking at all the things he’d been curious about, mainly because Deaton wouldn’t let him touch them. He stopped in front of a bookcase that held dozens of magical books behind a locked glass front.

“What do you think would happen if I touched one of these old books?” Stiles said.

“I’m sure Scott would enjoy a weekend off while you cleaned cages for him,” Deaton said.

Stiles jumped. He jerked his finger away from the glass and glared at Derek, who merely smirked in return.

“That won’t be necessary,” Stiles told Deaton. He’d had to clean the cages once before, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat. Cat urine burned his nostrils.

“So, Dr. D.,” Stiles said. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

“Derek Hale,” Deaton said. “Welcome back to Beacon Hills. Has there been news of Laura?” he asked, looking between Derek and Stiles.

“No,” Stiles said. “Well, not exactly.”

“What, exactly?”

“Peter’s awake,” Derek said.

“For how long?”

“We don’t know,” Stiles said. “We think he might be behind Laura’s disappearance. And if so, he’s got help.”

“From whom?”

“A nurse named Jennifer,” Stiles said.

“Jennifer Godwin,” Dad announced.

Stiles flailed. “Dad! You’re here! And you brought food!”

“I get points for bringing food, but not for discovering information that might be critical to our, as yet unofficial, investigation?” Dad said as he handed over the bag to Stiles’ grabby hands.

“You’re a prince among men,” Stiles said.

“Jennifer Godwin?” Derek said, but Stiles saw him sniff the air when he opened the bag.

“Yes,” Dad said. “She started at Beacons Crossing six months ago.”

“How’d you find that out?” Stiles mumbled around a bite of Whopper.

“Chew with your mouth closed,” Derek said.

“What are you, the food police?” Stiles said, spewing half-chewed food.

Dad, Deaton, and Derek all gave him looks. “Yeah, okay, that was gross,” Stiles said, using some of the napkins to clean up the mess.

“I stopped by Beacons Crossing,” Dad said. “Presumably to check up on Peter Hale in light of the disappearance of his niece. I questioned some of the nurses and administration. They, especially her fellow nurses, had nothing but glowing remarks about Ms. Godwin.”

“Interesting,” Deaton said.

“What’s so strange about that?” Stiles said.

“That she hasn’t rubbed a single person the wrong way?” Dad said.

Stiles shrugged.

“You and Scott are friends.”

“Best friends,” Stiles clarified.

Dad dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Is every single thing you say about him complimentary?”

“Of course!” Stiles said. “Though he does hog the blankets, and his farts smell, and he still hasn’t seen ‘Star Wars’ . . . Oh, yeah, I see your point. So what does that mean?”

“There’s more. Her boss said she came with great references and a stellar work record.”

“But?”

“Jennifer Godwin didn’t exist until six months ago.”

“Then why do they think she does?” Stiles said.

“She must be influencing them, somehow,” Deaton said.

“Okay,” Stiles said, polishing off the last of his burger. “So Laura is missing, Peter is awake, and Jennifer is suspicious. What else do we have?”

“Peter thinks that Jennifer had something to do with Laura’s disappearance,” Derek said.

“And she didn’t exactly deny it,” Stiles added.

“What else did you hear?” Dad said.

Stiles looked at Derek, who shook his head. “Nothing. Just that one, short, unproductive conversation.”

“Not completely,” Deaton said. “We learned that Peter is awake and that Jennifer may have taken Laura.” He looked at them all expectantly.

“Why . . . would she take Laura?” Stiles guessed.

“Yes, but more importantly, _how_?”

“Laura’s an Alpha,” Dad said.

“So Jennifer must be very strong,” Derek said.

“Or she just knows enough about werewolves to be able to incapacitate one,” Stiles said. “All you’d have to do is blow some powdered wolfsbane in her face, put her in a prison surrounded by mountain ash . . .”

“It’s disturbing that you’ve thought of this,” Dad said.

“The best defense is knowing your opponent’s offense,” Stiles said.

“Fair enough,” Dad said.

“So what do we do, follow her?” Stiles said.

“She’ll be prepared for that,” Deaton said. “She’s probably had her guard up anyway, but now that Derek’s in town and Peter knows about Laura, and she’ll hear about the Sheriff’s visit soon enough . . .”

“Then what?” Stiles said. “I mean, she can’t want Laura for anything good.”

“No,” Deaton agreed. “There are several dark rituals that would be strengthened by the addition of the blood of an Alpha.”

Derek growled low in his throat. “We need to stop her.”

“Yes,” Deaton agreed.

“How do we do that?” Dad said.

“We foil her plans by taking away one of the crucial elements of the ritual – Laura.”

“Again, how?” Stiles said.

“We preform another locator spell,” Deaton said.

“The last one didn’t work,” Dad reminded him.

“Stiles will be stronger this time,” Deaton said, sharing a look with Stiles’ dad.

“How?” Stiles said.

Deaton looked at Stiles, and then Derek. “A bond with a werewolf.”

“What?” Stiles said.

“What?” Dad said, a little more thunderously.

“It needn’t be a sexual bond,” Deaton said calmly.

Stiles choked. “What?”

“You’ve already formed a bond,” Deaton said. “So it should be a relatively simple matter to strengthen it.”

“What?” Stiles and his dad said at the same time.

“Derek doesn’t even like me! How can we have a bond?”

Deaton gave Stiles a look, then lowered his gaze to where Stiles’ hand rested on Derek’s arm. Stiles hadn’t even realized he’d placed it there, and Derek hadn’t thrown off the touch. Derek looked like he hadn’t realized that Stiles’ hand was there, either. They jumped apart now as if they’d both been scalded.

“Will it be permanent?” Dad asked.

Deaton’s silence was answer enough.

“No,” Stiles said. “I’m not making Derek do that.”

“It’s for Laura,” Derek said.

“It’s coercion,” Stiles said.

“Not if I’m agreeing to it of my own free will!”

“It’s not free will when you don’t have a choice!”

“I’ll set up while you two are discussing it,” Deaton said dryly.

Stiles looked at the floor. They needed to find Laura before Jennifer used her for whatever ritual she had in mind. As much as he hated it – for Derek’s sake more than his own – this might be the only way.

“What do we need?” Stiles asked.

“Condoms and lube,” Deaton said.

Stiles tripped over his own feet, while his dad let out an irritated squawk.

“Joking,” Deaton said. “You get the candles and bowl, I’ll get the rest.”

“Not funny, dude,” Stiles said.

“Agreed,” Dad said, glowering at Deaton.

Stiles didn’t look at Derek while he got out the candles and bowl. For a moment he’d thought about it, imagined it, and he was sure the fact of that was written all over his face. Derek caught the bowl when it slipped from Stiles’ hand. Together they set it on the desk, and when Stiles glanced up, Derek was watching him intently.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Me? Dude!”

“Don’t call me ‘dude,’ and you’re only sixteen . . .”

“Nearly seventeen!” Stiles said.

“Oh, well, excuse me,” Derek said.

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” Stiles said.

“Gentlemen,” Deaton said, and both Stiles and Derek turned to look at him with nearly identical guilty expressions. “If you would?”

Stiles helped Deaton fold back the rug that covered a circle inlaid into the floor and set candles at the five points of the pentacle inscribed within the circle.

“I always wondered why your office was so large,” Dad mused.

Deaton had measured out various herbs and powders into the bowl. Stiles knelt in the center of the circle and set the bowl on the floor in front of him. Deaton handed over a vial of oil, a ceremonial knife, and a lighter. Stiles lit four of the candles, then indicated that Derek should join him inside the circle.

Stiles lit the fifth candle once Derek knelt across from him, and he felt the circle close. “Now what?”

“The oil first,” Deaton said. “Dip your finger in the oil and draw a line down the center of Derek’s face from his forehead to the base of his throat, connecting the two chakras, and then Derek must do the same to you.”

Silently, Stiles unstoppered the vial and tipped it so that oil coated the tip of his index finger. He touched his finger to middle of Derek’s forehead and painted a line down the center of Derek’s face. Between his eyes and down his nose. His stomach did a little flip when his fingers traced across Derek’s lips, and then again when Derek tipped his head back so Stiles could continue the line beneath his chin to the base of his throat.

Stiles handed the vial to Derek, who repeated the ritual, his finger warm and sure on Stiles’ face. Stiles couldn’t hold back the flush of arousal when Derek’s finger parted his lips. Derek had to know, but his face showed nothing when he withdrew his finger and handed back the vial.

Stiles ducked his head as he stoppered the vial. “What’s next?” he asked.

“Blood. Prick the tip of the ring finger on your left hand and let three drops of blood fall into the bowl. You’ll need to cut deeper on Derek so he doesn’t heal before you get the required number of drops.”

Stiles pricked the tip of his finger and let three drops fall into the bowl to mix with the herbs. His hand shook a little bit when he held Derek’s hand in his own. He placed the tip of the knife against Derek’s finger and cut a little more deeply than he had on his own, holding it until three drops of Derek’s blood were added to the bowl.

“Mix it, and then light the powder,” Deaton said.

Stiles reluctantly released Derek’s hand. He used the tip of the knife to stir the mixture of herbs and blood, and then picked up the lighter. The powder flared, burning out quickly, leaving only ashes in the bottom of the bowl and the pungent smoke that rose from them.

Stiles’ vision got blurry and his head spun. He could see that Derek was having a similar reaction. He reached out, his hand landing on Derek’s forearm. A spark arched between them, and then everything went dark.

~*~*~*~

When Stiles woke his head pounded like a bass drum, and both Dad and Derek were looking at him worriedly. He groaned. “My head . . . How long?”

“About ten minutes,” Dad said, sounding like it had been ten hours.

“What happened?”

“Deaton forgot to mention that this ritual would knock you out,” Derek growled.

“Yeah,” Stiles groaned. “He does that. Only dispenses information that he thinks we need to have. Didn’t I mention that?”

“No,” Derek said.

“Did it work?” Stiles said as he tried to sit up.

“Stiles,” Dad cautioned.

Derek put a hand behind Stiles’ back for support.

“We’ll see if it worked when you attempt the locator spell again,” Deaton said.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said. “Thanks for asking.”

“Good. Then perhaps you’d like to do the locator spell now.”

Stiles got out the items he needed. He spread the map of Beacon County out over Deaton’s desk, then opened the plastic baggie that held Laura’s necklace and hairbrush. Derek’s lips tightened when he saw them, but he didn’t say anything as Stiles took a couple strands of Laura’s hair and wrapped them around the pendant. Lastly, Stiles sprinkled a few metal shavings on the map.

“What are you doing?” Derek finally said.

“This is my focus,” Stiles said, picking up the necklace. “Those . . .” He pointed to the metal shavings. “. . . are going to tell me where Laura is. Hopefully.”

“What is the most important ingredient in any magical endeavor, Mr. Stilinski?” Deaton said.

“Belief,” Stiles said. He did believe. Or he wanted to. Having belief in his own abilities was sometimes the hardest thing.

“Why don’t you hold the necklace in your right hand and place your left hand in Derek’s,” Deaton suggested.

“Is that necessary?” Stiles said, adding, “I just meant, it doesn’t seem very practical,” when Derek scowled at him.

“In future it won’t be,” Deaton said. “But since this will be your first time drawing on Derek’s power to augment your own, it might help to have a physical connection as well as a metaphysical one.”

Derek shoved his hand at Stiles. “I’d do worse to find Laura,” he said.

“Wow, thanks,” Stiles said.

“I didn’t . . .” Derek sighed angrily. “Never mind.”

Even before he touched Derek’s hand, Stiles could feel his apology mixed in with a dizzying array of feelings, mostly having to do with a crushing sense of guilt and a lack of self-worth. When Stiles’ fingers touched Derek’s hand he felt a rush of sensation and a electric crackle as their sparks met. He looked at the place where their hands touched, surprised he didn’t see actual sparks of electricity dancing along their skin.

“Stiles?” Dad said, sounding worried.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, not shaking off the sensation so much as absorbing it. “That was just . . . a lot more overwhelming that I thought it would be.”

Derek’s pinched expression would’ve told Stiles that he agreed even if he hadn’t been able to feel it.

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand. “Okay, let’s get this over with before you spontaneously combust, big guy.”

Stiles grinned when he felt a wave of irritation he would’ve recognized even without a connection to Derek. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. (Supposedly he didn’t have to do either, but it helped him to clear his mind and focus.)

Stiles thought about Laura, clutching both the pendant and Derek’s hand. He remembered her smile and the sound of her laughter. The sadness that she’d only let show when she thought no one was watching. The crack in her voice when she’d told them about her visit to an unresponsive Peter. Her gleeful expression when she’d told Stiles an embarrassing story about Derek.

(Which I will never repeat, Stiles thought when he felt Derek growl through their link.)

Stiles used Derek’s hand to draw the rune in the air. Find Laura, Stiles thought. “Locant!” Please find Laura, he pushed his will into the word, infusing it with as much power as he could.

His tattoos flared and something in the air changed, as if everyone had been holding their breaths and let out a collective sigh. Stiles opened his eyes to see that the metal shavings had drawn together over one spot on the map. He squeezed Derek’s hand and let out an undignified squeal. “It worked! I did it!”

“No,” Derek said flatly.

Elation left Stiles like air out of a punctured balloon. “What do you mean?”

“That’s Hale property. I’ve already been out there. My first stop was the house. I ran all through those woods. She wasn’t there.”

“But, it worked. What do you mean she wasn’t there?” Stiles said weakly as he tried to stave off the crushing disappointment of failure. “She, she has to be there.” He gestured weakly at the map.

“She’d been there,” Derek said, “but her scent was old.”

“Faint,” Deaton said distractedly.

Stiles turned to look at Deaton. He had a thoughtful, almost dazed expression as he stared at the map.

“Say what you mean!” Derek snarled.

Deaton blinked, and when he refocused his eyes on Derek he looked as calm and imperturbable as ever. “You said that Laura’s scent was ‘old,’ but that was merely a deduction on your part for a scent that was ‘faint.’ There’s another explanation.”

“Which is?” Stiles said.

“Distant,” Derek said.

“Yes.”

“So, what, she’s up in a tree?” At all their looks, Stiles said,” Derek said he was all through those woods. If Laura was ‘distant’ . . .” Stiles didn’t regret the finger quotes. “. . . wouldn’t Derek have come upon a stronger scent at some point that would have led him to her?”

“Not if she was underground,” Deaton said, and now everyone was staring at him.

Derek’s head swivelled back to the map and he frowned. “The tunnels?”

“No,” Deaton said. “There’s a tree. Or rather, there was a tree; it was cut down long ago . . .“

“The stump,” Derek said. “There’s an old root cellar beneath it.”

“Who would put a root cellar in the middle of the Preserve?” Stiles said. At the looks directed his way, he said, “Not the point.”

“I can find her,” Derek said, taking a step towards the door.

“Wait,” Deaton said softly. Before Derek could growl out a response, Deaton continued. “If Jennifer took Laura to that spot, she had a reason.”

“A very-not-good reason,” Stiles surmised.

“Correct,” Deaton said. “That . . . stump is what’s left of the Nemeton.”

Stiles’ fingers went numb and his knees shook. Derek caught him before he fell.

“I’m going to guess that’s not good,” Dad said.

“The Nemeton itself is neither good nor bad,” Deaton said. “It is merely a source of power. What one does with that power, on the other hand . . .” He trailed off.

“What would Jennifer need with Laura?”

“Sacrifice,” Stiles said woodenly. “She needs to sacrifice someone to the Nemeton.”

“That is what I fear,” Deaton said. “Right now the Nemeton is . . . inert, but with a little bit of blood, especially the blood of an Alpha, who knows what ill Jennifer could accomplish.”

“It’s always got to be blood,” Stiles muttered. Stiles waved away Derek’s questioning look with a mental reminder to sit him down and make him watch ‘Buffy’ when this was all over and Laura was safe.

“So, Jennifer,” Stiles said. “What’s her end game?”

“What does it matter?” Derek snarled. “Let’s just go and get Laura!”

“What if Jennifer’s already there? We know she has knowledge . . . of some sort. She woke Peter from a coma, unless she was just in the right place at the right time, which is too much coincidence for me, and she managed to take an Alpha werewolf. Look, I want to find Laura, too, but we need to know exactly what we’re up against before we go rushing in.”

Derek’s facial expression spoke clearly of the mental battle he waged with himself. “Fine,” he bit out. “What is she?”

“Is she supernatural?” Dad said. “Could she be a werewolf?”

“No,” Derek said. “I didn’t smell another werewolf in Peter’s room.”

“Unless she’s an Alpha who knows how to hide her scent,” Deaton said.

Stiles’ eyes went wide at this new information. “No wa–! Right, not the time.” He mimed zipping his lips shut. From the looks he got, no one thought his silence would last.

“Though I have a suspicion that’s not what she is,” Deaton said. “Few people are aware of the Nemeton, or its potential.”

“Who are?” Dad said, while Derek just growled out his frustration.

“Druids, emissaries,” Deaton said.

“So she’s an emissary?” Stiles said.

“I think it’s safe to say that, if she requires a blood sacrifice to the Nemeton, she is no longer a druid, nor is she an emissary.”

Stiles nearly screamed himself when Deaton paused for dramatic effect.

“She’s most likely a Darach.”

“Shut. Up!” Stiles said.

Everyone ignored him.

“What’s a Darach?” Dad said. “Is that like a Kanima?”

“Oh my god, Dad, no.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I ever showed you those pictures.”

“Trust me, kiddo, so am I,” Dad said.

“A Darach,” Deaton said, “is a druid who has gone evil.”

“When good druids go bad,” Stiles muttered, then yelped when Derek pinched him. “Ow! Okay, fine,” he said as he rubbed his side. “What can we do against a Darach?”

“Can’t we just go in when she’s supposed to be at work?” Dad said pulling out the small spiral notebook in which he took notes. “They gave me her schedule so I could talk to her about any strange visitors to Peter’s room.”

“That would be helpful, yes,” Deaton said.

“Unless she mind whammies them to think she’s there when she’s not,” Stiles said.

“Like she did with the references,” Derek said.

“Well, crap,” Dad said. “My notes say she works the four to midnight shift, just in case.”

Stiles checked his watch. “Four is a couple hours from now, and it’ll still be light. It doesn’t hurt to think positive, right?”

“You’re thinking positive?” Dad said, at the same time Deaton said, “She might be suspicious because of the Sheriff’s visit, and it’s possible that she’s aware of your . . . power boost,” he directed to Stiles.

Who sighed. “Of course it’s too much to think positive, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That’s my line,” Derek said.

“Was that a joke?” Stiles said. “Because I’m not sure my heart can take it, if it was.”

“Shut up,” Derek said.

“Alright, so,” Dad said. “Jennifer would need something to keep Laura trapped – wolfsbane, mountain ash. We can take care of that.” He indicated the non-werewolf members of their party.

“You’ll need protection against whatever magical abilities Jennifer has,” Deaton said.

“We can do that.” Stiles gestured between Deaton and himself.

“What do I do?” Derek said.

“Why don’t you and I look at the map and figure out the quickest way to get there,” Dad suggested. “Just remember you’ll have humans with you.”

Stiles blocked out the muted conversation between Derek and Dad and fidgeted while Deaton unlocked his cabinets.

“What would you use?” Deaton said.

Stiles flailed. “What, really?” At Deaton’s look, Stiles pushed down his surprise and his nerves. He went through the cabinets, grabbing various bottles, staying away from the rowan and any form of wolfsbane. He began with garlic – there was a reason it was a classic – then added in basil, cinnamon, sea salt, dried mistletoe, and heather.

Stiles placed all the ingredients in a mortar and crushed them to a fine powder with the pestle. He carefully spooned the mixture into four pieces of hollow bamboo. He used lavender scented wax to stopper both ends, and then strung them onto leather cords. The last thing he did was carve a rune of protection into the bamboo.

Stiles put one of the leather cords over his own next and tucked the protection talisman beneath his shirt so it touched his skin. His dad ducked his head so Stiles could place one around his neck and let Stiles unbutton the top button of his uniform shirt to tuck the bamboo beneath his t-shirt.

“It needs to touch your skin,” Stiles explained as he worked. He poked his dad in the chest when he was done. “Vest.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Which one of us is the kid again?”

“Which one of us is more breakable again?” Stiles said as he moved on to Derek, who stood stoic while Stiles placed the cord around his neck and made sure that the bamboo touched his skin.

“Okay.” Stiles clapped his hands together. “We know where we’re going in?”

“Yep,” Dad said.

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Stiles said with more enthusiasm than he was feeling. He turned around to see that Deaton stood staring down sadly at the protection talisman Stiles had made for him.

“I’m afraid I can’t go,” Deaton said.

“What do you mean, you can’t go?” Dad said, echoing Stiles’ thoughts.

“The Nemeton and I have a . . . history,” Deaton said.

“Did you cut it down?” Stiles guessed.

Deaton raised his eyebrows. “No. But if there is any power left in it, it would no longer recognize me as the Hale emissary.”

So many questions ping-ponged around inside Stiles’ head. Before he could voice them, Deaton continued.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve done as much as I can to aid you.” He held out the bamboo by it’s leather cord. “Give this to Laura when you find her.”

“But . . . ,” Stiles said, even as he opened his hand to accept the talisman.

Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm and dragged him towards the door. The three of them left the Animal Clinic in silence – though Stiles wasn’t the only one who shot questioning looks back at Deaton – broken only when Dad said, “We’re taking the cruiser.”

Stiles didn’t argue, just grabbed his trusty baseball bat out of Betty and climbed into the backseat because Derek had already claimed shotgun by virtue of reaching the cruiser ahead of Stiles. On the way out to the Preserve, Dad radioed the station to check in. He told Tara that he’d completed his interviews at Beacons Crossing and was checking out a lead.

Stiles had to wait for his dad to open the back door to let him out after he parked on the side of the road. He and Derek waited while Dad got his vest (the one to which Stiles had given a magical upgrade) out of the trunk and put it on. Stiles helped him with the side straps.

“You should wear one of these, too,” Dad grumbled as he slung a pair of binoculars around his neck, made sure he had his flashlight and cuffs in his belt, and grabbed his shotgun.

Stiles waggled his fingers. “Don’t need one.”

“But you need a baseball bat?” Derek said.

“This isn’t _just_ a baseball bat,” Stiles said, pointing out the runes he’d carved into the wood.

“So it’s a magical bat?” Derek said with just as much disdain as he led them into the woods, with Dad bringing up the rear.

“Yep!” Stiles said, popping the ‘p.’ “It’s made out of mountain ash and dipped in wolfsbane.”

“Have you ever used it?” Derek said.

“Rubbed it with garlic and used it against a vampire once,” Stiles said.

Dad snorted. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Okay, it wasn’t, like, the undead kind of vampire, but it sucked all the blood out of the body. And then the marrow out of the bones. And then it ate some of the . . .”

“Enough,” Dad said. “My deputies had to find those bodies.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “It was gross.” By which he meant _totally cool_. Aside from the whole death thing.

“Try not to make any noise,” Derek said.

“Are we getting close?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Derek said. “I just want you to be quiet.”

“Hardy har har,” Stiles said, but he fell silent. He’d played in these woods before, but now, knowing about the Nemeton and that Laura might be trapped beneath it, being held as a sacrifice, everything held an air of creepiness.

“There are no animals here,” Dad said.

Which meant they sensed the unnatural energy, too.

A few minutes later Derek held up his hand and then crept forward. “We’re there.”

Stiles saw the wide stump that used to be the Nemeton. It didn’t look like anyone was around. Derek raised his face and breathed in, then shook his head to confirm it.

“Any traps?” Dad asked, placing a heavy hand on Stiles’ shoulder when he started to rise.

Derek looked around. “None that I can see.”

“Let me take a look,” Dad said before anyone could move.

Derek looked like he didn’t know what Stiles’ dad would see that he couldn’t, but Dad just said, “Army Rangers,” as he raised his military grade mini-binoculars and checked out the area around the Nemeton from ground level to tree top.

“There’s something,” Dad said, lowering the binoculars and pointing out the spot.

“I see it,” Derek said, rising.

Stiles rested his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “My turn.”

“What are you looking for?” Derek said.

“Magic. If she’s thorough, she would’ve made it an early warning system to alert her that someone was in the area.”

“How would she account for the animals in the Preserve triggering it?” Dad said.

“There aren’t any animals here now,” Derek said.

“Yeah. It’s way too quiet,” Dad agreed.

“She must’ve done something to keep them away,” Derek said.

Stiles let their voices roll over him as he concentrated on the spells Jennifer might’ve placed around the Nemeton. He drew a rune in the air and thought, show me her magic. He pushed his will into his voice and said, “Aperio.”

“Wow,” Stiles breathed, then swore, “Shit,” when the area around the Nemeton lit up like a laser grid.

“What is it?” Dad said, while Derek just glowered at Stiles as if he could see inside his brain if he tried hard enough.

“The entire area is cross-crossed with magic. We can’t reach the Nemeton without hitting a dozen of them.”

“What are the chances that they’re all defensive rather than offensive measures?” Dad said.

“Given the fact that she kidnapped an Alpha werewolf she intends to sacrifice to the Nemeton? Slim.”

“That’s what I thought you were going to say,” Dad said. “Can you neutralize her magic?”

“I think so,” Stiles said. “But I’m gonna need help.”

Derek shifted closer and pushed up the sleeve of his leather jacket. Stiles gave Derek a grateful smile and closed his fingers around Derek’s wrist. He studied the lines of magic, noting where they crossed over each other, where they twisted together, where he might pull to unravel the whole thing like the sweater his Grandma Stilinski knit him for Christmas that one year.

Stiles thought about what he wanted to accomplish. He wanted to undo the magic Jennifer had lain down, release it harmlessly into the aether. He pictured a battery losing its charge, a shoe coming untied, as he drew a rune in the air in front of his face. Stiles felt Derek’s own power push at his mental walls. He let it in and poured his own and Derek’s power into the command. “Explico!”

Stiles’ tattoos burned hot and bright against his skin and he had to clamp his mouth shut against the scream that wanted out. Just when he thought he couldn’t push his will any harder, Stiles received another infusion of power. The magic snapped, slapping Stiles with a shockwave that sent him flying backwards, Derek’s wrist slipping out of his grip.

“Stiles!” Dad said.

Stiles shook his head, which turned out to be a bad idea. “I’m fine,” he lied. He squinted, but the lines of magic were gone.

“It’s safe,” Stiles said. “Go get Laura.” He slapped the talisman into Derek’s hand. Hurry!” Stiles said when neither man moved right away. “If Jennifer felt the backlash of that, she definitely knows we’re here now. I’ll be right behind you,” he promised. Just as soon as my head stops spinning, he thought.

“Do you remember where the entrance to the root cellar is?” Dad asked Derek.

“I’ll find it,” Derek growled, giving Stiles one last glower before he stepped out of their hiding place.

Stiles traced healing runes on his arm while he watched his dad and Derek circle the Nemeton. He slowly rose to his feet when his ears stopped ringing. Stiles picked up his bat and went after his dad and Derek. They’d found the cellar and descended the – rickety might be a generous description, Stiles thought when he saw them – stairs by the time Stiles reached the entrance.

“Did you find her?” Stiles called down as he stepped gingerly onto the top step.

“Stay up there,” Dad said. “We don’t need you falling down those stairs.”

“I’m not gonna . . .”

“Stiles?”

“Laura!” Stiles called, nearly slipping off the step in his haste to see her. “Are you alright?”

“For various definitions of alright,” Laura said angrily.

Derek made a growly noise that turned into a whimper.

It was dark in the root cellar, but the glow of his dad’s flashlight illuminated a circle of mountain ash that he’d scuffed a break into. When Laura stepped closer, into the daylight Stiles wasn’t blocking, he could see the burns around her wrists and neck where she’d been bound with wolfsbane infused ropes.

“I’ll kill her,” Stiles said.

“Get in line,” Laura said.

Stiles scrambled backwards up the steps as Laura started up them. He stood at the top, ready to lend a hand if she needed one. She didn’t, of course; the burns already healing and her gait steady despite the fact that she’d been tied up and basically tortured for days.

Laura gave Stiles a smile, but then her eyes were drawn to something over his shoulder. She growled and shoved Stiles behind her. Derek leapt up the last few steps and blocked the entrance.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Jennifer warned from where she stood near the Nemeton, one hand holding a deceptively thin chain, the other end of which was wrapped around Peter Hale’s neck.

“What’s going on?” Dad said, pushing Derek out of the way so he could squeeze out of the root cellar. “Oh,” he said when he caught sight of Jennifer. “Jennifer Godwin, I presume?”

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Jennifer said. “It’s a shame you had to get involved in this.”

“It’s my job to get involved,” Dad said calmly.

Jennifer ignored him, her gaze moving to Stiles, who’d stepped out from behind Laura so he could see better.

“You,” Jennifer said. “You shouldn’t have been strong enough to see through the wards that kept that one . . .” She gestured towards Laura. “. . . hidden, much less break them.”

Stiles wisely didn’t speak.

“You,” Jennifer cooed at Derek. “I think I’m going to keep you. Can’t have a pack with only an Alpha and an emissary.”

Both Laura and Derek growled at that, and Stiles felt like growling.

“You’re going to have to wait, though,” Jennifer said, her eyes finding Laura once more. Her smile made Stiles shudder. “First things first.”

“Bring her to me,” Jennifer commanded, and thin tendrils of tree root broke through the ground to twine around Laura, drag her towards Jennifer no matter how hard Laura struggled against them.

Jennifer stepped closer to the flat surface of the Nemeton’s stump. She leaned down and rubbed her hand over it like a lover. “Place her right here.”

Stiles tried to move, but his feet were frozen to the ground. A glance at his dad and Derek showed that they were having the same problem. Stiles tested the bonds – his arms and legs were free to move, only his feet were bound. Either she didn’t want to expend any more energy than she had to, or the talismans kept her magic from working fully.

“Derek,” Stiles said softly, testing his ability to speak.

Derek turned his glare onto Stiles, so that worked. Stiles tried to make his face say ‘be ready,’ but from Derek’s reaction he merely made himself look manic.

Stiles glanced over at Jennifer. Laura was spread out on the Nemeton like a sacrifice on an altar, roots twined around her arms, legs, and torso. Laura strained against her bonds, but they were infused with magic and impossible for her to break. Jennifer’s smile was more than a little bit mad, and Stiles hoped that her plans for Laura would keep her distracted for just a while longer.

“Tell Dad to be ready to fire,” Stiles told Derek, keeping his voice low. His dad carried shells filled with salt, which would help to disrupt Jennifer’s magic.

Stiles thought about the roots pinning Laura to the Nemeton, the chain around Peter’s neck, and their feet glued to the ground. He imagined the magic powering the spells running off like rainwater into a creek. He drew a rune in the air and tried to ignore Jennifer’s command to Peter to kill his own niece and take the Alpha power for himself, whispering, “It’s rightly yours, anyway, and then you can enact revenge on those responsible for the fire.”

Peter’s eyes blazed blue and he took a step forward. Derek slipped his hand into Stiles’.

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand and said, “Dissipantur.”

His dad fired, pumped the shotgun and fired again. Jennifer was forced to expend some magic to protect herself from the shot, but some of the salt got through.

There was no shockwave, but Stiles felt the magic Jennifer was using dissipate. Jennifer felt it, too. Her eyes went wide and she looked at Stiles. She threw her arm up and tried to pull the threads of magic back in, but it was too late – she’d lost her hold, literally and figuratively, on both Laura and Peter.

Peter’s eyes cleared when the magic was no longer controlling him. He tore the chain from around his neck, leaving a deep score in his skin, and swung it at Jennifer like a lasso. It caught her around the neck and Peter yanked, tightening it.

“Peter!” Laura roared, and even Stiles could feel the Alpha command in the word.

Laura stood with bits of root hanging off of her from where she’d ripped free when Jennifer’s magic had weakened. Dad and Derek and Stiles had run forward when their feet had been freed, but they just stood there watching this all unfold, unsure what to do. Though Stiles traced runes in the air, effectively putting a blanket on Jennifer’s magic in case she didn’t need to speak past the chain cutting off both breath and words, to call upon it.

“Peter,” Laura repeated gently when Jennifer sagged in his arms.

Peter loosened the chain, but he didn’t release Jennifer. “You know what she was going to do,” Peter growled. “Make me kill you, turn me into her pet Alpha, under her control . . .”

Stiles slapped his forehead. “Of course, Godwin!”

“Mary Shelley’s maiden name,” Derek said.

Stiles stared at him. “You just got one hundred times more attractive to me.”

Derek glared at Stiles, but the tips of his ears went pink.

Dad snorted, but he walked over to where Laura had apparently convinced Peter to drop Jennifer. He knelt at her side and slapped a pair of cuffs on her.

“Are those going to hold her?” Stiles said.

“Deaton assured me they would,” Dad said.

“Oh, well, if Deaton assured you,” Stiles said, still stinging from Deaton’s refusal to come with them.

“Are those made out of wood?” Laura said.

“Mistletoe,” Dad said.

“Holy crap!” Stiles yelped as whatever final bit of magic Jennifer had been using to maintain her appearance was drained out of her by the mistletoe.

Stiles took out his cell phone. Miracle of miracles, all the magic they’d been exposed to hadn’t drained the battery and somehow he had two bars of service, even out here in the middle of the Preserve. He called Deaton and didn’t even wait for the other man to speak before saying, “What’s wrong with her face?”

“Is she still alive?” Deaton calmly said.

“Yes,” Stiles said, “but . . .”

“I’ll send someone to pick her up,” Deaton said.

“Pick her up?”

“She’ll be put someplace where she can’t hurt anyone. Let me speak to your father, please.”

Stiles sighed, but he handed the phone to his Dad. He thought it was unfair that everyone else could hear what Deaton was saying because his dad’s, ‘mmm hmm’s weren’t giving anything away.

“Okay,” Dad said when he ended the call and handed the phone back to Stiles. “Medical transport will meet us at the road. Peter needs to be returned to Beacons Crossing. There’ll be too many questions if he just disappears from the Home and then people see him wandering the streets,” Dad directed to Laura.

“Agreed,” Laura said, squeezing Peter’s arm.

“What about Jennifer?” Stiles said.

His dad hesitated. “She’ll be taken to Eichen House.”

“Eichen House?” Stiles said. “Isn’t that a mental institution?”

“Psychiatric Hospital,” Dad corrected.

“They won’t be able to hold her,” Stiles argued. “Maybe we should let Peter kill her.”

“I like him,” Peter said. “Are we keeping him?” he asked Laura.

“Hush,” Laura said gently, but she had a smile on her face.

Dad gave Stiles a pained look. “There’s a special section in the basement.”

“Where they know about people like her and she won’t be able to escape?”

“Yes,” Dad said. “Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?” Stiles squeaked.

Dad ignored him and clapped his hands together. “Okay, lets get back to the road.”

At a look from Laura, Derek picked up Jennifer and Dad led the way out of the Preserve. Stiles stopped beside the stump, all that was left now of a once powerful Nemeton, and patted the smooth top of it.

“Sorry, tree, no blood sacrifice for you today.”

As he pulled his hand away, Stiles caught his finger on a thorn bush he’d swear hadn’t been there just a moment before. He pulled the thorn from his finger and tossed it aside, not seeing where it landed. He shoved his finger into his mouth and sucked on it.

“Stiles!” Dad called.

“A thorn got me!” Stiles said as he hurried after the others.

~*~*~*~

They were met at the road by a nondescript white van. Men in white coats jumped out and strapped Jennifer onto a gurney. One double-checked the mistletoe cuffs while another gave her a shot of what Stiles hoped was horse tranquilizer or something even stronger. Neither one of them so much as flinched at her appearance, which made Stiles wonder just what types of things they’d seen to make this sort of thing commonplace.

Once they pulled away, the five of them piled into the cruiser – Stiles in the front passenger seat, bat between his knees, and the three Hales in the back. First stop was the Animal Clinic so Deaton could check Peter over before they returned him to Beacons Crossing for him to miraculously wake from his six year coma and eventually be released.

Stiles and Derek sat in the chairs in the waiting room while Deaton examined Peter. He thought it was unfair that his dad got to go back with Laura, but he did have to admit that it would be a tight fit for all of them to squeeze into an exam room. While he sat there, he thought back to the scuffle in the Preserve, wondering why Jennifer’s magical vines had been able to trap Laura.

“Hey,” Stiles said. “Did you give Laura the talisman?”

Derek’s eyes went wide and he drew the bamboo and leather out of the front pocket of his jeans.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Stiles said dryly.

“Shit,” Derek said. “Shit, that could have . . .”

“Hey, hey, no,” Stiles said, reaching out to touch Derek’s arm. “It all worked out.”

Stiles heard footsteps and looked up to see his dad, Laura, Peter and Deaton heading towards them. He snatched the talisman out of Derek’s hand and tossed it to Laura. “Here, I made you this for protection against magical influences.”

Laura caught the talisman easily. “Thanks,” she said dryly, but she put the cord around her neck anyway, and tucked the bamboo beneath her shirt. She smoothed her shirt as she looked at the two of them. “So,” Laura said. “Something you want to tell me, little brother?”

“No,” Derek said, and a growl vibrated low in Derek’s throat and straight to Stiles’ dick.

Laura’s eyes widened. Peter smirked. Derek glared at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles said.

“He’s kind of young, isn’t he?” Laura said to Deaton as if Stiles wasn’t sitting right there.

“Yes,” Deaton agreed, “but he’s powerful. Or he will be if he continues his lessons.”

“But to form a bond . . .”

“Hey!” Stiles said. “We did that so we could find you!”

Laura’s eyebrows went up, which made her look remarkably like Derek.

“Not it- it,” Stiles clarified, a flush heating his skin. “Deaton said the bond didn’t have to be sexual.”

“And it won’t be,” Dad said. “Not for a few more years, anyway. After that, I don’t want to know.”

“I meant the ritual!” Stiles said loudly to get everyone’s mind off sex. “The it that we did, I mean.”

“Ritual?” Laura said.

“Yeah, the bonding ritual,” Stiles said.

“There wasn’t time to convince them of the bond, they both needed to believe in it to be able to draw on it when they needed to,” Deaton said.

“Wait,” Stiles said. “Are you saying that the ritual was unnecessary? But . . .” He gestured wildly. “The candles. The herbs. The blood!”

“Cinnamon,” Deaton said. “And ginger. Both good for protection. Though now I’m in the mood for gingerbread.”

“What?” Stiles squawked. “The ritual was fake? I passed out!”

“Fainted,” Deaton said. “And it had to look good.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Stiles said.

“Okay,” Dad said. “On that note, Laura and I are returning Peter to Beacons Crossing, and then she’s going to the Sheriff Department so she can cancel the missing person report by telling us all how she got lost in the Preserve.”

Both Peter and Derek snorted.

“You two.” Dad pointed at Stiles and Derek, and Derek’s shoulders went rigid. “Go back to the house. No monkey business.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stiles said.

Dad pointed at his eyes with two fingers, and then Derek. “I’ll know,” he said.

“You’re not a werewolf,” Stiles pointed out, just to be ornery.

“No, I’m a father,” Dad said before leading Peter and Laura out the door.

“I hate when he gets the last word,” Stiles said.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure it doesn’t happen often,” Derek said.

“Thank . . . Hey!”

Derek smirked.

“Not to rush you,” Deaton said, “but I have somewhere to be.”

“Where?” Stiles said.

“I’m going to check on Jennifer,” Deaton said.

“She won’t be able to escape, will she?” Stiles asked.

“No one leaves Eichen House,” Deaton said, and a shudder went down Stiles’ spine.

~*~

Scott was waiting on the front steps when Stiles and Derek got home.

“Dude,” Stiles said. “What are you doing sitting out here?”

“Waiting for you,” Scott said. “We’re supposed to play Mario Kart.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said, a twinge of guilt because he’d forgotten all about it. “We were at Deaton’s.”

Derek brushed pas them and went into the house.

“Who’s that?” Scott asked.

“Oh, that’s Derek, Laura’s brother.”

“Derek Hale,” Scott said.

“Yes, Derek Hale.”

“The same Derek Hale you had a . . .”

“The pinky swear is sacrosanct!” Stiles yelled before Scott could finish his comment.

Scott rolled his eyes. “It’s not like he could hear me mention your . . .”

“Lalalalala!”

“. . . big ol’ crush.”

Stiles really hoped that Derek wasn’t listening or he was never going to live this down. Inside he took off his jacket and tossed it towards a hook. He introduced Scott and Derek, then set up the game while they stared at each other.

“Okay, you two play first and I’ll take on the winner.” Stiles slapped a controller into Derek’s hand. “I’ll get snacks.”

Derek stared at the controller.

“You can do it, big guy.”

Derek gave Stiles a pseudo smile that was all teeth. Stiles had a feeling he was supposed to be cowed by the silent growl, but instead he was charmed by Derek’s teeth. Stiles shook his head to clear it.

“Kick his ass, Scotty.”

~*~

The weekend before school started back up again passed quickly. Scott came back around to play games again on Saturday. Laura joined them and they played as teams. It was bittersweet because Stiles knew that Laura and Derek were flying back to New York on Sunday. Stiles and his dad drove them to the airport.

Laura promised him that they’d be back in a few weeks, as soon as they quit their jobs and sublet their apartment and packed up everything they’d accumulated in the past six years. Stiles was at once excited about and dreading their return because apparently he was the Hale pack emissary-in-training due to the connection he had with Derek.

Stiles made a note to question Deaton thoroughly about the bond before they got back. He’d known Derek for barely a day before whatever link they had took hold. And even though he’d said that the bond didn’t have to be sexual, it appeared that everyone (including his dad) thought that it would be. Not that Stiles was opposed to that, of course, but he had no idea how Derek felt about it, and to be honest, he was too anxious to look too closely.

Luckily, since Laura and Derek were returning to Beacon Hills, and they’d taken care of the Darach, they had time to figure everything out – the bond, the emissary thing, the possibility of Stiles having sex before he graduated . . .

Stiles revised his optimistic outlook on Monday when the Vice Principal introduced Allison Argent, a new student at BHHS, to their class and Scott fell madly, deeply in love.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Meta theories: That Nurse Jennifer and Jennifer Blake were both aliases used by Julia Baccari and that Nurse Jennifer was responsible for Laura’s death.


End file.
